


Asylum.

by withoutwords



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Anal Sex, Home Farm, Infidelity, M/M, Possible bastardising of British slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You alright?"</p><p>"Yeah, I will be. When I get you on your own."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asylum.

**Author's Note:**

> This is set over the course of their time alone together, at Home Farm.
> 
> I hope my interpretation of the accent and translating it to print is not too off-putting for natives. For eg, when Aaron says ‘me’ instead of ‘my’ is he saying ‘my’ and pronouncing it ‘me’ or is he actually saying ‘me’? Haha, no wonder youtube clips offer subtitles ;)
> 
> Also, I hope you enjoy!

It’s warm in the house. Robert’s bare feet are crossed over Aaron’s lap, the light of the television flickering across his face. Aaron doesn’t hide the fact he’s looking; he _doesn’t have to_ is the thing. He can just let his eyes _feast_ , let his thumb draw patterns on the sole of Robert’s feet and pretend that this is his for keeping.

“I’m trying to watch this,” Robert says with a hint of a smirk, not taking his eyes from the screen. His hair is wilder than usual, a little twisted from the ghost of Aaron’s fingers earlier.

“Who’s stopping ya?”

“You will be, if you keep looking at me like that,”

“How’s that?”

Robert digs his heel into the hard meat of Aaron’s thigh, curls his mouth up. He’s trying not to smile, trying not to let Aaron see him, still, but he’s too late. Aaron’s seen him stripped bare, even with his fancy suit on. “As if I were the last beer in the whole bloody world.”

“You don’t like that?”

“I like that,” Robert says quietly, and they might as well turn the television off; Robert’s eyes fixed on Aaron’s, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“You get that a lot?” Aaron asks, reaching out a hand to tangle their fingers together. It had been one of Aaron’s first thoughts about him, his long, able hands, and how they were going to waste in some snobbish office. How they might feel, more ragged and inside Aaron, rough and strong. “Eyes following you, people wanting ya?”

“I guess so,” Robert says, watching their hands and clearing his throat. “Does it matter?”

“Not really,” Aaron concedes, which goes to show how stupid he is, how stupid _this_ is. To believe the man cheating on his wife has everything he wants now. That he will ever have enough. 

“Alright,” Robert pushes up, comes in so close Aaron can feel the warm, moist puff of his breath against his face. A hand travels flat up Aaron’s chest, curls in his collar and now he’s looking, looking like he wants Aaron as much as Aaron wants him, that it’s burning at his insides. “C’mere.”

*

Robert’s in the kitchen with pyjama shorts and an apron. Aaron huffs a laugh, getting his attention, and they spend a moment just smirking at each other. Maybe Robert’s thinking about last night, the longest night, all the sleep they lost and will never miss. Maybe he’s thinking how shitty Aaron looks first thing in the morning.

“Mock me, but remember: I’m making your breakfast.”

“Coffee will do, won’t it,” Aaron groans, slumping onto a stool. He’s got to go into the garage, and he promised to see Adam, and at this point just the thought of having to shower is too much.

“You big baby,” Robert teases, but then there’s a cup in front of him and a plate with toast and eggs. Aaron just sits there and looks at it. Eggs, the way he likes them. Toast. Coffee.

“Am I dead or something?”

“No, but you’re _really funny_ ,” Robert says. “Anyone tell you?”

“I tell myself all the time, actually.” Aaron watches him clatter around at the sink, the pull and gather of the muscles in his back, the red marks where Aaron had dragged his mouth. “Are you eating too or should I sit here like some muppet and read the morning paper?”

Robert turns to smirk at him, again, holding his own plate. “You’d think I’d made you sleep on the couch and served you gruel, bloody hell. You need me to massage you while you eat? Squeeze some fresh fruit?”

“Fuck off.”

Robert takes the seat closest, their elbows bumping. He does have the paper, opening it up, pulling out the sports section for Aaron, grinning like he’s won something when he passes it over. “For you, Kermit.”

*

There’s a broken mug on the floor, the pieces scattered. Robert has his hand clenched around his own and Aaron wants to punch him again. He wants to punch that look off his face, like he knows more, like he’s better. Aaron hates him, he hates him so much.

“You’re unbelievable, you,” Aaron shouts, his fist at the ready. Robert volunteered to be his punching bag, once, maybe Aaron will take him up on the offer. “Look at you, standing there like your well above it all, like nothing can touch you! Newsflash, Robert, it has, and it’s all over us, all over the bed you share with your wife.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything, that’s the problem. I’m just standing here. I’m just standing here and I’m just waiting, but I don’t know what I’m waiting for.”

“If you mean Chrissie, and me telling Chrissie, I’ve already - ”

“Oh, yeah, your ‘I love her and I love being married’ bollocks, whatever. I know this is easy,” Aaron throws his arms up, motioning to the house. “I know this is what life’s _s’posed_ to be and I know you’re a coward. I know being holed up in a single bed with a grease monkey is no life for Robert Sodding Sugden, so shut up with your reasons okay, I don’t care about your _reasons_.”

“Aaron - ”

“Kiss me, touch me, fuck me, hold me, but don’t you – don’t say things like I’m too – like I’m _nothing_ , don’t - ”

“Okay,” Robert soothes, putting his cup down and raising his hands, surrender. “Okay I won’t say – I won’t - ”

When he reaches for Aaron, Aaron pulls and jerks. His jaw’s so tight he thinks it might snap, turning his head when Robert slides in. There’s a small push, resistance, nothing violent and plenty of restraint. From Aaron, sure, or both of them. They’ve mastered restraint.

“Aaron,” Robert whispers, his head ducked, a hand coming up to cradle his face, his thumb brushing along Aaron’s beard. “Aaron,” he says again, and he’s shushing him, _sshh, sshh_ sounds, and maybe they’re swaying to silence.

Aaron hates him so much.

*

Aaron likes to take his time with Robert. He likes to graze his teeth on Robert’s shoulder, curl his tongue around the hard nub of his nipple, taste that thing, that skin and sweat and Robert taste, and breathe it in. He likes to map the lines of his chest and his belly with fingers and palms, dig his thumbs into the hard jut of Robert’s hipbones.

He likes to open Robert up with slick fingers, his tongue, likes to feel Robert pulling his hair. He will push and force and bend him and listen to the sound of Robert’s pleas, _yes, come on, Aaron, I need you, I need you_. There’s never enough time, not like this. It’s always quick and jilted, off balance – great, sure, always great, but the whole picture’s never fully in the frame. 

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” Aaron hears himself say, Robert on his hands and knees, ready, shaking. Sweat gathers at his temples, he’s red faced, and Aaron feels a surge of pride, of victory, that he’s done this and he’s the only one that can. He knows it. He’s so sure of it.

“So fucking impatient,” Robert amends, growls, and Aaron takes him by the waist, pulls him over, pushes in. Robert’s fingers clench around the bed sheet and his head comes back and Aaron thinks about how he would love to hear him howl. He’s so verbal, even in sex, but still in control. Sharp, and knowing.

“You feel so good,” Aaron tells him, truthfully, crowding their bodies together and setting a gentle pace. When he bottoms out, Robert makes these grunting sounds, wheezes, and it’s all Aaron can do not to come from that. Whenever he’s inside, buried, he’s always hot and taut and standing on the edge of a canyon ready to fall. It’s like giving in, giving over; Robert’s hair against his skin, their bodies twisted together, the long, hard length of Robert’s dick in his hand, weeping. 

This is the full picture, them, and this is the frame, this bed, and that’s all they are.

That’s all Aaron will have to remember it by, in the end.

*

Robert’s pissy, and holding back, when Aaron returns from Adam’s. One word answers and a half empty pizza box are all they share, a few empty beer bottles littering the floor. Aaron hasn’t asked, and doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction; Robert’s good at his games, but Aaron’s not going to play.

“This week was supposed to be for us,” Robert finally says, looming over Aaron sitting on the couch. Robert’s just wearing track pants and a threadbare t-shirt, the veins in his biceps peeking out. Aaron wishes he didn’t want to touch him, so bad, so much, and all the time. He wishes he could.

“What, you want me to chain myself to the bed or something?”

Robert huffs, and shrugs. “That’s a nice idea, yeah,”

“What d’you expect me to do, Robert?” Aaron says, and there’s no fight left in him, he’s tired. “Just stop living my life? I have things to do.”

“Other than me, you mean?”

“Ha, ha, sod off.”

“Aaron, seriously,” Robert rests his hands either side of Aaron, comes right in so Aaron can see every line and sport and mark on him. He doesn’t blink. “I want you. I want you when I wake up, when I’m eating, sleeping, in the shower, I want you as much as I can get you. So excuse me for wishing you felt the same.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“You left,” Robert says with a quiet growl, and then he’s bringing his knees up, straddling, not bothered by the fact there’s just no room for this, hunched over. “You left me,” he says again, pressing kisses to Aaron’s neck, Aaron’s hands clenching in his t-shirt to anchor. 

“I’m here now,” Aaron says, and in the back of his mind he thinks, I’m always here, I could be here forever, if you just chose me. But he doesn’t say it. He can’t keep saying it.

“Good,” Robert says, pressing their foreheads together, his hands warm against Aaron’s chest. “I love you.”

Aaron hates him so much, hates that look in his eyes, hates the truth. “I love you, too.”

*

_sorry about this I’ll make it up to u._

Aaron deletes the message, and pulls on his shoes.

It’s like waking up, really, and getting on with his life.

He runs.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com)


End file.
